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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Of love and lullabies

While
I was growing up, one of my favourite TV shows was ‘The Wonder Years’. The
series was based on a wonderful thought that has stayed with me ever since I
came across it. ‘Memory is a way of holding on to things you love, the things
you are, and the things that you never want to lose’

‘Ammumma’,
(my maternal grandmother) was an integral part of my growing up years, and continues
to be so to this day. We speak almost every day. Whenever I think of her, the first images that come to my mind, are the balmy Kerala
nights, when we used to lie down side by side for our nightly ritual of storytelling,
sprinkled with impromptu cuddling. It
would be the same story every night; but the sound of her voice, the comforting
and familiar fragrance of her after bath sandalwood talcum powder, along with
the comfortable warmth seeping in from my toes, tucked safely in the soft folds
of her sari, lulled me to sleep. Some nights, after the story, she sang lullabies
; songs that she had grown up with, songs scented with fragrant sandalwood
sachets of memories.

The
soothing sound of’ ammumma’ singing in her slightly out of tune voice, is one of
my most cherished childhood memories. My favourite lullaby was **“omana thingal
kidavo..” Some nights, when I put my son
to bed, singing that ever green lullaby, I close my eyes and can almost feel
ammumma’s plump slightly calloused fingers, softly stroking my hair.

‘Ammumma’
was a wonderful cook and my sister and I often awoke to paper thin dosas, sizzling
on the griddle, oozing with ghee. We often lost count of the number of dosas we
devoured, and they disappeared quickly, along with melt in your mouth, freshly
ground coconut chutney; ‘Ammumma’ did not know any fancy cooking techniques.
All the ingredients she used were simple, earthy ones, often made in her own
kitchen from scratch. Freshly churned homemade butter, melting on steaming hot
mounds of rice, delicately flavoured fish curry, tart, with just the right
amount of heat, butter milk spiked with ginger and cumin. Relatives often asked
her, how all her dishes turned out so well and she would simply smile and
attribute her culinary success to a secret ingredient, passed on to her by her
mother.

Some
days before I was to be married, ‘ammumma’ was combing
out my hair when she casually remarked “Always remember, even if you are serving a cup of tea, do it with
love. You must have the desire to see the people who are eating your food,
satiated and content. Good food is one of the very few things in life, that have
the power to genuinely satisfy a person. That is the secret ingredient that
makes the simplest of dishes ,seem like a gourmet meal”

Thank you ammumma, for flavoring my life with the sweetness of your love.

*Omanathinkal
Kidavo (Malayalam: ഓമന തിങ്കള്‍ കിടാവോ ) is a lullaby in Malayalam that was
composed by Irayimman Thampi on the birth of Maharajah Swathi Thirunal of
Travancore. To date, it remains one of the most popular lullabies in the
Malayalam language.[1]

The lullaby was composed by Thampi at the request of the then ruler ofTravancore,
MaharaniGowri Lakshmi Bayi, to
put the baby KingSwathi Thirunalto sleep. His birth was a long awaited event for the royal family since
it faced the threat of being annexed intoBritish Indiaunder theDoctrine of Lapsefor the want of a male heir. The lyrics of the poem reflect this sense
of relief when it refers to the baby as a 'treasure from God' and 'the fruit of
the tree of fortune'.[2][3]

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As the name suggests this mommy tries out all things related to "being mommy" and lives to write about it at well. This blog is about the "spirit" of mother hood, the lighter side of parenting. online kiddie resources and much more... I would love to receive your comments and suggestions!!!!!

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"Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their body but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,which you cannot visit,not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you...
Kahlil Gibran-The Prophet